#dmagedtexts
Note
I just really like the idea of Durge having previously dealt with Raphael, running into him with Amnesia and assuming they're in a relationship given all of Raphael's flirting and pet names. Durge deciding to kiss a shocked Raphael who goes along with it because he's been looking to find some kind of hold over them.
Anon, I need you to know how much this inspired me. I made a little story out of it with my own Durge Cian because it fits him so incredibly well. He's nothing if not obsessive. And especially obsessed with that devil. 😁
A Devil You Know?
A Devil You Do?
Rating:
General but a touch spicy
Relationships:
Raphael/Durge (male, Cian)
Tags:
obsessive thoughts, kissing, spoilers for act 2
Summary:
Dark Urge Cian misunderstands his own obsessive thoughts about the local devil following him and assumes a relationship they don't actually have. - Much to the delight of the devil in question.
AO3
~
The picture was lively, like a vision haunting his every waking moment: Eyes of molten heat reaching out for his soul, the soul he yearned to possess, his elegant hair combed back, curling invitingly in his neck, calling for his fingers to bury themselves in its softness to bend his head to his liking, his expressive dark eyebrows, giving him too many hints, opening his emotions to him too easily, his aristocratic, suave features with a prominent nose and thin wide lips, indicating a dominating and controlling nature and other irresistible traits he wanted to lay open and dissect.
He followed him with every step, even now Cian felt his presence while he was tossing and turning, restless, wide awake in the middle of this stinking, irksome camp surrounded by the darkness striking fear in the hearts of those around him. If only they knew. It was nothing but a weak shadow compared to the black abyss he felt in his very own chest. And yet. When he closed his eyes, he saw fire striking through its depth. – Burning hot on his skin and like a raging inferno in his guts. His fire. His torrid ambition. His glowing gaze. His fierce desire. He could feel it all, he could feel him with every breath.
It was a game, wasn’t it? He is toying with me.
‘The mouse smiled brightly:
It outfoxed the cat!
Then down came the claw,
And that, love, was that.’
He licked his paper-dry lips.
There wasn’t much he could recall about himself, his memories kept withdrawing just in time whenever he tried to sink his fangs into their silhouettes, mocking him at the edge of his consciousness. And so did he.
But his adoration for poetry, the way it resonated within him, brought him a profound, endearing joy. No, this was not a new development but an old, a familiar part of him the devil must have been aware of.
‘And that, love, was that.’
“You know me.” He spoke the words into the darkness. None of his companions roused from their sleep. But his invisible observer stayed silent. “And I know you, isn’t that true, devil?
Despite the farce of an ‘introduction’, he had not only told him with his gazes, with his demeanor and luring sensuality, but with an open statement even, his little hint:
‘It's not every day one meets such a cavalier sinner such as yourself! A true, bloody pleasure.’
His pulse quickened, his blood rushed through his veins so loudly that he feared its noise would alarm the vampire.
The strong bond he was sensing, the delight he felt, the growing desire: That devil and him, they were connected far beyond fleeting first impressions.
You have been at my side, have you not?, he continued in his thoughts, so loud and focused that if Raphael indeed was near, he probably could hear them as clearly as his words, And now you patiently wait for me to remember. But even if I still lack the pictures and specifics as of now, I do remember you; a part of me recognizes what still lies buried. It would be impossible to forget a devil like you.
He closed his eyes, listening for an answer that did not come.
With a little smile, he turned to his side.
The silence did not matter. Soon the truth would be revealed.
-
The child left the table with a self-satisfied grin. For someone her age, she was, well, bearable.
Although, her victory was his, not hers, and – either way – mostly the devil’s, despite his defeat. Raphael’s reactions, their conversation, his comment when she disappeared into another part of the inn, and out of hearing, nothing of it left any doubt that he was after her soul and the game only had brought him closer to his goal.
Naïve little girl.
“The Theskan move suggestion was inspired,” Raphael said to him and now he himself was the one who felt a hint of self-satisfaction. Of course, he hid the fact that the devil’s compliment affected him.
“There is plenty about me you have no idea about.”
“Don’t I, indeed …” Raphael did not attempt to sound convincing.
“Or maybe,” Cian stepped closer. “That’s only what you want me to believe.”
One of those vivid eyebrows wandered higher.
“How long do you think you can fool me?”
“Fool you,” Raphael repeated slowly and with a shimmer of amusement in his eyes, “And how exactly do you believe I'm doing th…”
With calm determination, Cian closed the last distance between them and cut off his words by pressing his lips to his. Raphael’s eyes widened in utter surprise. He refused to return the kiss, keeping his mouth taut and inaccessible.
Have I been wrong?
Fear and a hollow cold spread through his insides, despite the warmth of the skin he was still touching, hands buried in the expensive fabric of Raphael’s clothes.
Cian readied himself to step back and apologize – with calm nonchalance, protecting his pride or as much of it as he could save.
But suddenly Raphael’s grip tightened around his hip. He didn’t allow him to escape. Instead, he moved his lips against his mouth and used his consequent little sound as an opportunity to tease his tongue with the tip of his.
It sent tingling pleasure through his body and fierce heat to the very bottom of his soul.
Relief flooded every fiber of his being, and he grabbed the devil harder. Raphael was taller than him, stronger too, still, he wanted to claim him as his, to remind him that he was. Prying his lips open further, he slid his tongue behind those pearly teeth, invading his mouth and deepening the kiss with unrestrained passion that now was returned with the same demanding harshness. Their tongues pushed against the other insistently, hungry for sensation, hungry for dominance.
For the duration of their kiss, nothing else existed but the devil in his arms and his eager touch. But when they finally parted, he could feel the shocked gazes of his companions.
Astarion overcame his surprise first and let out a delighted little laugh. “No no no, please don’t stop now, I was enjoying the show!”
“You can’t be serious.” Wyll spat those words out with undisguised disgust.
“I’m sure you two could get a room if you asked,” Shadowheart commented drily.
Cian cleared his throat, and Raphael allowed him to retreat. “Forgive the spontaneous assault,” he said without paying much attention to the others. “But I needed the confirmation.”
“The confirmation of what, if I may ask?” Raphael asked, the curiosity in his voice seemed genuine.
Now it was for him to raise a brow. “That we know each other intimately. When did you plan to tell me the truth about our past? – About our connection?”
Raphael hesitated. – His gaze piercing as if he was searching for something in his eyes. Did he try to find out how much of it he already remembered?
Cian knew he would need to be careful with what he believed him until his memories truly returned. His partner or not, he was a devil after all. And they loved their little games and secrets.
Eventually, Raphael smiled a charming smile. “Well, as you proved just now, it won’t be necessary to tell you anything about your forlorn past. It’s much more intriguing to watch it return to your eager mind.”
#bg3 raphael#raphael bg3#raphael#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate 3#bg3#baldur's gate#oc: cian#my ocs#the dark urge#raphael x tav#tav x raphael#raphael x durge#durge x raphael#my writing#dmagedtexts#bg3 spoilers#a devil you know? a devil you do?
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Raphael punishing Tav for using his incubus a while later ...
Just some thoughts of mine (but explicit and smutty).
Raphael watches closely while Haarlep fucks them again, eyes on them and nothing hidden from his view, observing if they do it "right" while also giving them orders to thrust more firmly or to stroke Tav's most sensitive body parts, his deep voice almost a purr: "You enjoy it when they touch you there, don't you, little mouse. So eager for them, so open. Or should I say for me?"
Haarlep uses Raphael's form, therefore he feels Tav's body around his cock, but every time either Haarlep or Tav gets close, he commands them to slow down or pull out - so Tav desperately clenches around nothing until they calmed down enough for Haarlep to push in again. Meanwhile, Raphael lazily strokes himself through his pants and comments on how good Tav feels and that maybe they'll get a treat if they learn to hold back like a good little pet and not to take things that aren't theirs.
Raphael and Haarlep both will come later, fucking each other while Tav is the one watching. - Firmly tied up and dripping. They'll have to wait until Raphael feels generous enough to touch them and don't even have permission to pleasure themselves. Their orgasms belong to Raphael now and they are not allowed to cum by anyone's touch but his.
#raphael#bg3 raphael#raphael bg3#baldur's gate 3#bg3#haarlep#tav#dmagedrambles#dmagedtexts#I wanted to send this as a dirty bg3 confession#but then it got too long
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cw: mature
Tav/Durge being stronger than Raphael expected (physically or their magic) and he's finding himself overpowered after a battle he couldn't win. They don't intend to kill him, they never did, but he didn't give them a choice. Now he's badly injured and their grip painful around his throat, tightening further, barely allowing him to breathe. To his utter shame, there are tears in his eyes, even running down his cheeks, out of agony, but mostly out of humiliation. Tav/Durge is taking in the view. When they open their hand, he falls to his knees. Tav/Durge is calm in their demeanor. But they yank his head backwards with a firm grip around one of his horns, forcing him to look up to them from the ground with something helpless in those burning eyes. Their hand moves lower, across his damp cheek, stroking it with treacherous gentleness and he trembles. They trace his lips with their thump, a sensual but degrading gesture while he's kneeling there utterly defeated.
"Open up for me." His eyes widen, his jaw clenches, but they force his mouth open anyway and two of their fingers into it. With their free hand they take a small bottle out of the bag around their waist, open it and bring it to his unwillingly parted lips. They need to hold his head in position by firmly burying their fingers in his hair but he has no choice but to swallow the health potion.
Then they let go of him and step backwards.
"Go and lick your wounds. You're pathetic like that." And just the slightest bit softer: "I won't lose a valuable ally over a disagreement."
#don't mind me#but what a beatiful mess he would be#bg3#bg3 raphael#raphael bg3#raphael#baldurs gate 3#baldur's gate#dmagedtexts#faustian bargains#my writing
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Rating:
General
Relationships:
Raphael/Male Durge (my character Cian)
Summary:
The glorious hero failing? Dying because of a foolish mistake? Destroying his plan by losing his life so recklessly? Raphael won't allow it.
(I’m always open for Raphael prompts btw, it just may take me a little time to answer them. ❤)
Tags of importance:
obsession, local devil struggles with feelings
AO3
~
You have been less predictable than most of your kind.
The rich spectrum of mortal emotion is a palette of many hues. Adept and well-versed in its heady heights and delicious depths, I employ both to my advantage. They are, after all, of inestimable value in my daily business; however, in a primarily – one could say – academic sense; by no means from first-hand experience, naturally.
But now I am astonished, little mouse, at finding myself invested in your fate, beyond those distant contemplations, fury bright and fierce in my chest.
You stand amidst the gore, skin sickly pale against the ruthless red drenching your robes and the very earth around you. – A single pure white rose in a field of thorny brambles. Your innocence is deceptive, and illusion your design. But your subterfuge won’t save you now against the vigor of your enemies. You have miscalculated, and you pay the price, your companions vanquished, alive but spent, and fear written plainly on your pain-twisted features.
You suck in a slow and shaky breath while I watch, at the edge of the chaos. I savor you, how your lips part around the barely muttered words of your last hopeless spells, the multitude of emotions passing across your desperate face.
Is this how you plan to escape the claws, little mouse? Stealing away from this plane of existence? The anger burns higher, floods my veins. It seems there is only so much time left for me to enjoy you before you ruin my flawless plan with your incompetence.
I am drinking in the sight of you, trembling with the heat of my rage and something indefinable, much colder underneath, when finally, you collapse and lie in a motionless heap among the dry, brown grass.
The air goes still. Something overcomes me at the sight, and I struggle not to bare my teeth.
With a flick of my fingers, your last two attackers burn to ash.
Immediately, the wizard is at your side.
“Give him room.” I approach, slowly. It is meant as a command rather than a threat, but my words fly with far more intensity than intended. If my thoughts weren’t utterly consumed by the figure lying on the ground before me, I might be concerned by the suddenness of my own outburst.
“Would you be so kind?” With an arch of my brow the request imparts an order.
The useless mage finally flinches back from where he is crouched at your side, but I can feel the vampling’s red glare on me from some distance behind where he too lies wounded, all your companions drained of all power to regenerate or heal.
I lower myself to take a closer look at you.
You are shivering. Sweat pours down your face in saline rivulets. The hollows of your eyes appear too deep, your skin waxy, your scent earthen and sweltering. I can feel the hostile magic still raging through your body.
“You won’t escape me like that.”
My voice seems to cut through the haze in your mind. Your long lashes flutter. Then your eyes meet mine, glazed and feverish.
When I cup your damp chin you startle, sucking in a jagged, pitiful gasp.
I swallow hard, ignoring your pained little whimper. Pathetic.
A few infernal words and my own power cleanses you of the destructive influence of the magic your opponents infused into your blood.
Perhaps unconsciously, you lean into my touch before your gaze clears.
“Raphael?”
A feeling rises in me, and I find myself suddenly consumed by an irresistible need to hide you away from all eyes, friend and foe alike. It’s agonizing and unwelcome, this foreign, ridiculous urge.
I am no stranger to desiring you, perhaps beyond what you are strictly worth for my plan, and as much as I attempt to distance myself from this need, I’m incessantly aware of its presence. But this is not desire. At least not in the way I’m accustomed to experiencing it. No, what tears at me and clouds my senses is something else, nameless because I deny it the solidity of a name, unacceptable because in conflict with my very nature.
I take a slow, even breath, getting hold of myself before I can do something rash. Another flick of my fingers makes a potion appear. I uncork it and bring it to your lips. “Drink.”
You do, your body language uncharacteristically submissive, docile like a mindless doll. It displeases me to see you like this, robbed of your gleam, of your value to me.
In a few heartbeats, the liquid will take effect.
I raise my eyes and examine your worthless companions for a long moment. They will make it back to your camp.
With that, I turn away, ready to vanish from this place and leave behind me the brief but frankly alarming lapse in control I have experienced at your hands.
Your voice stops me. It is disgustingly weak. “I … thank you.”
With a wide gesture of my arms and a cold smile on my lips, I turn towards you once more:
“The list of your debts is growing, little mouse. You can thank me when I come to collect.”
#raphael bg3#bg3 raphael#raphael#bg3#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate#baldur's gate raphael#dmagedtexts#my writing#faustian bargains#Devil May Care#my ocs#oc: cian#makeraphaelromanceable#my own entry 😏
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For Eneas:
7. What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?
10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?
22. How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?
7. What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?
Ah, nostalgia, his old enemy. One should assume he tried to get rid of it since it often led to intense suffering. His memories of what he lost are so vague, just enough to torture him, and at the same time: A valuable thing he would never want to lose.
Over the years, the pain became less sharp, less all-consuming, and a bittersweet yearning instead. Now he almost enjoys the nostalgia, indeed.
He definitely has a fondness for the warm, melancholy feeling regarding later sections of his life, thinking back to people he observed, influenced, guided for a while, how they shaped him in return, the twists and turns of the way he goes, the lessons he learned. Those memories are dear to him, another collection of small treasures.
Nostalgia is triggered by many things for him, places connected to certain events and emotions, sometimes by as little as atmosphere, light, smell, a piece of clothing or jewelry, very often by a song or melody.
10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?
Of all the lies he tells?
"I love you." - In all the forms it comes, non-verbally shown or spoken out loud in different phrases all meant to carry the same meaning and used like a weapon. "I care." "How do you feel?" "Let me show you." "I am here." and all those incarnations.
Though maybe that's not fair, it rarely ever was a lie entirely. And still, it often led to the demise of those believing him. Does it haunt him? They do, they do.
22. How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?
Eneas is not a terribly jealous person. And why would he be, he holds the strings and he is there to watch people react, to guide them, and to step back once he played his part.
He binds people to his games and still rarely claims anyone for himself. Mentor, lover, experience, whatever he becomes, it's a role at the sideline. If things get uniquely deep with him though, ..., well, there might be hints of jealousy in phases when he wonders if his deeds from the past and who he is underneath the masks will destroy any possible future of the connection he secretly yearns for and if someone ... simpler would suit the spot better.
Altogether, it needs more than a flirt or kiss to cause a strong reaction from him in most cases, and the slight jealousy coming with this sort of thing? Well, he can live with it, even smile about it.
In stronger cases though, when the one he chooses in this special way (so very rare for him in the first place), really seems to be more interested in someone else, well, it depends:
Should he find himself displeased with the one he's jealous of, he might destroy them. Of course, without making known that he's the one responsible.
Should he come to the conclusion that the one he's jealous of is a better fit for the one he loves, though, he will leave.
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Infernal Case Study
Rating:
Explicit
Relationships:
Raphael/You/Haarlep
Summary:
A cambion's anatomy can be quite a fascinating topic. Haarlep is willing to show a few specifics about their reproductive organs on a slightly displeased test subject. Of course, you are eager to learn, aren't you?
Tags of importance:
sex education but it's only a game, edgeplay, orgasm delay/denial, hand jobs, riding, bondage, gags, teacher/student roleplay, anal or vaginal sex depending on what you want to imagine, no gender statements about the reader, dirty talk, knotting, teasing, breeding kink
AO3
Written for the
A Devil You Do Dick Challenge
~
“Now, a cambion’s cock comes with a few particularities,” Haarlep said in their best teacher voice, using the cane in their hand like a pointer to show their statement on the living, breathing, and very much seething specimen.
You leaned back on the comfortable scarlet couch, while you attentively followed the incubus’ words. This kind of homeschooling was decidedly to your liking.
Raphael had not known what he would be in for when you both had seduced him with your touches and kisses for him to allow you to tie him to the chair he was sitting on.
You were more than pleased with the view.
Haarlep had only removed his shoes and pants – as usual, Raphael had not worn any undergarments – while his upper body remained neatly dressed. You smirked at the thought of how humiliating it certainly felt in the situation he was in, with only the parts of him exposed Haarlep and you needed for the lesson.
The ropes were enchanted to keep the cambion from ripping them apart – something his angry struggling surely would have accomplished by now without those precautions, if the anger in his burning eyes was a hint. Then again, well, Raphael could easily use the nonverbal gesture you had agreed on a while ago to order you to free him if he truly wanted out of his predicament. Apparently, he found himself reluctantly curious about this little game.
Or maybe, you thought, he just enjoys the humiliation of being a helpless test subject. His raging hard-on gave away that the treatment didn’t leave him unaffected.
[continue reading]
#raphael bg3#bg3 raphael#raphael#bg3#baldur's gate 3#haarlep#baldur's gate#baldur's gate raphael#dmagedtexts#my writing#faustian bargains#infernal case study#dick challenge#bg3 spoilers
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„I can feel your desire. Tell me about it. Tell me what it is, little mouse.”
“Hold your tongue, demon, or I’ll cut it out.”
The smirk on the creature’s face widened. “Because this adorable pet name is his privilege?”
“It’s neither his nor yours.”
“And still, you’re yearning. You’re yearning so fiercely, so deliciously, I could feed on your longing alone. But what fun would that be? I can give you what you need, tell me about it. Let me taste it.”
Cian tensed. The only reason he had not killed this impertinent demon yet was his respect for Raphael. And … certain advantages they brought as a toy.
“You think I’m going to trust you? – You of all creatures?”
“My lips will be sealed.” Haarlep opened their arms in a winning gesture, wings spread behind them. “I promise.”
Cian snorted. And yet … It was tempting.
He could only guess how clearly they already understood his desire just by sensing it. But even if they should break their empty promise and speak of it, Haarlep’s words would sound like a teasing attempt to mock him – like anything out of the demon’s mouth –, not like a truth they knew to share.
“His form,” Cian ordered coldly.
Haarlep cocked their head, amusement playing in their burning eyes. “I’m already wearing it.”
“Not the pathetic version he considers an improvement out of some kind of sad inferiority complex. His actual form.”
Something darker appeared in the demon’s gaze – like they had found a hidden treat they enjoyed chewing and swallowing a bit too much for his liking. Then their body transformed, their features became sharper, more classic, signs of aging gave them their typical suave and sophisticated charm. Their body changed to a less defined version, still tall and muscular, but softer whereas the former version had been nothing but boring hard smoothness.
Cian hummed. “Better.”
“My my, someone has a little crush. – A dangerous one, no less.” They even imitated his way of speaking now. Cian hated the pleasurable shiver it caused.
The demon reached out for him and cupped his cheek and he felt himself leaning into the gentle touch.
“Come.”
Cian tried to compose himself but followed them to the bed. A heartbeat later he found himself pulled close, enwrapped by strong arms and giant wings, covered by the heat of their body, captured underneath their weight, and deprived of any will to free himself to turn the tables and bring himself on top.
Haarlep kissed him the way Raphael would, with the same demanding harshness until … Cian quietly sighed against those sinful lips when their touch softened. The sudden tenderness was disarming. A clawed hand undid the laces of his shirt with practiced ease to slip underneath the fabric and pull it aside.
He was stroked and explored with undisguised admiration. Feverish arousal spread down his chest and peaked in his groin.
“You are irresistible, my dear.”
Cian pressed against the offered thigh between his legs. And a hint of smug satisfaction flashed in Raphael’s eyes.
Not … not Raphael, he reminded himself. It was so easy to forget now. His infernal lover kissed along his neck, his ... their sharp teeth scraped the delicate skin and burning pleasure flooded his veins.
“You want to be mine, don’t you? To give me all of you, little mouse.” His mouth found his ear; hot breath tickled his skin. “And you will be. A jewel at my side.”
His cock throbbed against his leg as an answer to those words. Following his desire, he buried his hand in his soft hair, pulling him into another firm, intoxicating kiss.
“I don’t think I gave you permission to borrow my toys,” the same voice that had whispered into his ear only moments ago now came from the door – not sensual but with the sharp edge of something threatening – and brought him back into reality.
Cold panic bloomed in him and he stiffened.
How much had he heard?
Haarlep let go of him immediately and turned around with a smooth movement, the insufferable grin back on their lips. “Master!”
Raphael frowned while he looked at them for a long moment, a hint of surprise clear on his features, probably realizing the differences in Haarlep's appearance while Cian’s heart pounded harshly in his chest. Finally, the devil’s eyes found his.
He swallowed.
“Now, if anyone would be so gracious as to explain to me what exactly is happening here.”
#cian will murder that demon#slowly#bg3 raphael#raphael bg3#raphael#bg3#haarlep#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate#oc: cian#dark urge#my ocs#my writing#dmagedtexts#cw: mature
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Owlcatober Day 12 - Song:
Late-night tune
He doesn’t know what time it is when he wakes from his sleep. Not morning, surely, the room lies in silken darkness. Has he been disturbed by a dream? No – he realizes slowly –, something more pleasurable ... And it has not stopped. The melody dances through the air, melancholic, poignant, aching, and yet beautiful.
Drawn closer to the music by curiosity, he leaves the bed while putting on his light, flowing dressing gown. The cold of the marble underneath his naked feet merges into the softness of thick carpets, then elegant parquet when he leaves their sleeping room, passes a corridor and enters the spacious parlor.
There he stands, his muscular back to him, his violin perched carefully on his shoulder, and his cheek against the valuable wood. His body sways slowly with the tune, his arm moves gracefully but with vigor. He guides the bow with skill and passion while his fingers – his beautiful, long fingers adorned by golden rings – catch onto the strings.
He stands mesmerized, barely breathing. But somehow his arrival has aroused Salvadore’s attention. He is tilting his head, his bow leaves the strings of his violin, and the instrument falls silent.
“I woke you.”
“And how lucky I am that you did.” He gives him a smile – warm and vivid, without holding back the deep affection he feels.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Salvadore explains himself regardless, and starts to put the violin back in its case. “My apologies. I didn’t think I was this loud.”
“Don’t,” Daeran steps towards him and stops him in his movement. “Play some more for me, will you?”
A moment of thought crosses those sharp features before a little smile appears on his lips. He has the urge to press his own against it, and he knows the gesture would be eagerly appreciated and reciprocated, yet he denies himself the tempting pleasure.
And Salvadore begins to play anew.
This melody runs differently than the one before. It begins slowly but soon ascends into something that quickens his heartbeat, it surrounds them both, and he sinks into the tune and into the picture alike. His hair falls to his forehead, the way he never allows in public, and his concentrated gaze softens when his eyes meet his and melt into an expression he can only describe as … devotion.
Heavens and hells and all planes in between and beyond, what did this man do to him?
Eventually, much too soon, the song stops.
The smile returns to Salvadore’s face.
“You watch so intently,” he comments, and amusement finds its way into his words. “As though you’d learn it off my fingertips.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I was merely observing and complimented myself on my fortunate choices. I didn’t pay much attention during my own violin lessons,” he lies, “But as long as I keep you around, I’ll get all the pleasure with none of the work. – Or the hassle of finding musicians willing and capable to entertain me in the middle of the night.”
“You could play a record.”
“That’s hardly the same.”
Salvadore chuckles. “Maybe I should teach you then. What if I’m not around for a while? And I admit I’m curious what you still remember.”
“Not a lot,” he answers casually. Another lie. Meanwhile, he walks closer until he’s chest to chest with the man who makes his heart race so fast that he must feel it through the thin fabric of his dressing gown and his own silken shirt. “But maybe I’ll let you.”
His lips brush Salvadore’s shoulder with the lightest graze. “– Maybe I’ll allow you to show off your remarkable talents and become my music teacher. Your oversized ego would like that, wouldn’t it?”
Salvadore’s lips against his mouth keep him from uttering another word. He recognizes the faint taste of mint and then only heat, only him, and all the burning passion of his demanding tongue, his possessive hands, and his hard body that presses against his own.
When he pulls away, he breathes hard. They both do. “You are kissing your students? Should a teacher exploit their power in such outrageous ways?”
“I firmly believe it will work on you,” Salvadore answers, his voice quiet and low. “And if you turn out to be willing to learn, I may consider a reward you may find even more outrageous. Just the way you like it.”
#daeran#daeran arendae#pathfinder wotr#pathfinder: wrath of the righteous#commander x daeran#knight and dae#daeran x commander#pwotr#knight commander salvadore#oc: salvadore#my ocs#my writing#dmagedtexts#owlcatober 2023#pwotr pals#owlcatober#late-night tune#will daeren ever let salvadore know he can play the violin?#well it utterly depends on how fun his lessons are
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Owlcatober Day 6 - Family:
Memories
The painting captured a moment so unburdened, so joyful, and free of the darkness that would soon erase the light and leave a deep, bleeding crack never to be fully closed again.
Silaena’s golden hair shined in the sun, as warm as her loving smile. She could almost hear her gentle voice, encouraging her boy, telling him stories, laughing with him.
By Iomedae, he had been so young. So innocent. His tiny hands gripped the seesaw in fearless glee.
Time was a troublesome concept that tended to slip her mind in the center of this ongoing war, this ongoing battle. Years, decades of tragedy, and she herself the chosen idol of it all. Timeless. Unchanging. While the world around her moved forward and forward without any stopping. It never had been her decision. But it had been her duty.
She wore the loneliness with the same determined pride as her crown. And still, in some secret moments, she wondered if, at any point, it would have been possible not to carry it all alone. It was a naïve, unreasonable thought and she should not be ungrateful, for Iomedae was always at her side.
Family had become a foreign, faraway memory. She remembered her pain over the tragedy at Heaven’s Edge like a still throbbing scar when she allowed it, while, simultaneously, she felt removed from it all with her focus forced to stay on the big picture, not a single detail of it.
Would she have been able to do more for the little traumatized boy, the one single survivor of the massacre, her only living relative? She remembered a time when he had looked at her with excitement and admiration in those green, glowing eyes, behind his charming, mischievous smiles. But eventually, in becoming older, he had grown more distant, more disdainful, and outright crude in his jokes, his diversions, and every area of his life. If there was good left in him, he didn’t show it, didn't allow it.
Was it – at least partly – her failure too? Would they have been able to give each other some solace in their loneliness? If she had been there for him a little more …
But there was no room for distractions of this very kind. In her ever-lasting role as the queen, the leader of the crusades, her attention had been needed elsewhere, and he – born into a place that demanded to take responsibility too, if only he wouldn't ignore it – should have been able to understand, should have been strong enough to carry it.
Queen Galfrey sighed and straightened her posture when she turned away from the painting.
Enough of the mournful musings. Her duties awaited her.
#queen galfrey#pathfinder: wrath of the righteous#pathfinder wotr#pwotr#daeran#daeran arendae#silaena arendae#my writing#dmagedtexts#owlcatober 2023#pwotr pals#owlcatober#memories
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Owlcatober Day 22 - Nobility:
The Intruder
His bright, familiar laugh captivated him the way it always had. It was a condescending sound, but it didn’t lack interest. “Lord Adar! A pleasure. I take it that you are not a frequent visitor to such exuberant gatherings? You ignored my last invitations with flagrant indifference.”
The young, long-haired man smiled at Daeran. “A lord? Only on the paper.” With a cheeky wink, he added: “But you can call me Tao.”
“I will call you a welcome distraction. This celebration long outlived its purpose: to provide me with frivolous, inordinate entertainment.” Daeran made a tired gesture. “Look at them, as tedious as uninspiring wherever I go, by ill luck, even here at the gate to the fearsome worldwound.”
The party was past its peak, indeed, most of its decadent guests had reached an unpleasant level of drunkenness or intoxication by various drugs and alcoholic beverages, unable to even stand straight, muttering nonsense with their pompous, tasteless clothes disheveled, giggling senselessly while lying on red velvet couches and colorful pillows on the floor, or fucking prostitutes in corners not dark enough to spare him the view of their sweating, grunting bodies. The room was a disgusting mess of empty bottles, half-eaten food, knocked-over furniture, and two or three unconscious bodies.
He had never seen Daeran not bored sooner or later during his own gatherings of this very nature, and still it seemed they stayed his diversion of choice for a reason unknown to him.
“Rumors say it’s the Knight Commander himself who provides you with distractions,” the strangely sober, late guest continued their conversation, and Daeran’s smile grew cold.
“The Knight Commander? He wouldn’t condescend to do something more fun than take a bath in ice water. He reminds me a little of my dear cousin, both politicians - which should be telling enough already -, as fond of their power as of their own wearisome voices. Even more, they share the same self-righteous, holier-than-thou demeanor that bores their enemies to death before they get an opportunity to attack. One should think that with this remarkable ability, the crusades would have been over a long time ago.”
Fierce agony had entwined his body and soul alike, contracting tighter and tighter around his very being, cutting into what was left of him with every painful breath.
His wishes blurred with his reality and memories. Had anything between them been real? Anything at all? And was Daeran asking himself the same questions? – While shaking him off like an annoying fever dream?
The stranger laughed. “So, people are right with their stories? He is Iomedae’s chosen one?”
“You truly haven’t spent much time in Drezen, have you? The only one who chose him is himself, as some quite amusing current developments have shown. Neither Iomedae nor my cousin are overly fond of him anymore. An enjoyable little irony.”
The only one who chose him is himself. The truth in those words weighed heavy on his heart.
“Well then, it seems, you and I, we are outliers among the local nobility.” Lord Adar smiled his charismatic smile, and a part of him wanted to turn it into a grimace of pain.
“We?” Daeran asked mockingly.
“Well, unfortunately, we are surrounded by his kind in one direction, and …” He gestured toward the room. “theirs in the other.”
“Excruciating.”
“In this case, as your distraction of choice, allow me to suggest something closer to the excitement you wished for.”
“Oh? And what could you possibly have in mind with that oh-so-subtle insinuation?”
The stranger leaned closer until his lips almost touched Daeran’s ear. He couldn’t hear the words, but he saw his mouth brush his cheek, Daeran’s long fingers on his arm as if to hold him in place, and how Lord Adar elegantly escaped him nonetheless. “My room. In half an hour, and I will await you in most pleasant anticipation.”
With that, and after a playful bow, he left through the large doorway.
Daeran leaned back. Not a hint of a smile stayed on his features the moment he found himself alone again among his illustrious guests.
Maybe it was his oracle senses, maybe just a last hint of their once-so-strong connection, but something made him look up to the low, elegant gallery with the dark entwined balustrade, his luminescent eyes attentive and searching the moment he stepped back into the shadows. His black coat merged with the darkness.
He should not have come, not have given in to the urge to see him.
For some long, torturous heartbeats, they stood motionless. Sensing each other’s presence. Or maybe just a vague impression.
Then Daeran turned around and walked towards the door as well to get ready for his distraction of choice.
A potion of invisibility hid him further when, eventually, he stepped out of the darkness and left the house behind.
~
While not needing the story at all, this little snippet is an added scene to "Below" and happens after the second chapter.
#daeran#daeran arendae#pathfinder wotr#pathfinder: wrath of the righteous#commander x daeran#knight and dae#daeran x commander#pwotr#knight commander salvadore#oc: salvadore#my ocs#my writing#dmagedtexts#owlcatober 2023#pwotr pals#owlcatober#below#the intruder
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Owlcatober Day 1 - Protection:
Guardian Angel
I can feel your eyes on me.
He had developed a sense for its presence, lingering, threatful, oozing depravity of a dark, bottomless depth too wide, too strong for the material plane.
- The shift in you when I touch him.
The breath of the golden-haired Aasimar came strained and interrupted by little sounds of distress, sometimes almost a word – reaching out for him but fading back into the blur, not fully formed behind the barriers of his nightmare.
His fingertips brushed along his cheek and jaw with feathery tenderness. A quiet sigh fell from his throat.
- Your sharp interest when he leans towards me, body and soul. Do you feel arousal then? Discontentment? Both? Do you believe he is yours?
Calmly, he lowered his head towards those beautiful, vulnerable features to place a kiss on Daeran’s fear-damp forehead. His expression softened ever so slightly, before tensing in a new, a closer way.
You are deeply mistaken, creature.
Bright green eyes opened to search for his in dizzy confusion.
He is mine.
“I dreamed.”
“You did,” he confirmed, voice soft and warm. “What was it about?”
Daeran moved, still captured by the pictures of his nightmare, and his eyes glazed with memory when he turned his head in the flood of messy golden curls. “An old, familiar darkness, its grip around … everything I know” Sleep clung to his words, its muffling heaviness clearly dulled his awareness of his own statement. “And then … obliterated by wings of radiant light.”
“Wings of radiant light, you say?” A playful smugness made its way to his face.
Daeran blinked as if he started to realize that he was awake and actually speaking to him. The dark entity retreated to the corners of its realm. Its presence was weaker now. Meanwhile, a hint of embarrassment appeared on Daeran’s features, captivating and rare.
“Well, isn’t it a tragedy what this idiocy about a ‘holy crusade’ does to my poor subconscious mind?”
“The crusade causing this is of a much more personal nature.”
Daeran’s expression grew intense, penetrating, as if he was trying to break through to the deeper meaning of his words. – Wondering.
He smiled. “To me, it seems you are protected by a guardian angel.”
His face relaxed again, and his fingers ran through the feathers of his wings, causing a shiver of pleasure along their way.
“Whatever you hoped to find, I’m afraid I must let you know that you got astray, angel.”
“Not in the slightest. I’m exactly where I need to be.” He kissed his lips with firm devotion and felt the last rest of darkness slip away further, far enough to let them breathe more freely.
For now.
I will never let you have him.
#daeran#daeran arendae#pathfinder wotr#pathfinder: wrath of the righteous#commander x daeran#knight and dae#daeran x commander#the other#pwotr#knight commander salvadore#oc: salvadore#my ocs#my writing#dmagedtexts#owlcatober 2023#guardian angel#pwotr pals#owlcatober
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A Deal Worth Taking
Here we finally go. I said I would write a story for this confession. And I did. 😁
Rating:
Explicit
Relationship:
Raphael/Male Durge (my character Cian)
Tags of importance:
sub Raphael, orgasm denial, chastity device and chastity magic (by contract), bondage, bdsm themes, dirty talk, sex toys, blow jobs, prostate play, anal sex, Haarlep mention but they don’t make an appearance
Summary:
A short while after the game Raphael makes another quite explicit deal with his favorite client. And comes to regret it. Or does he?
((Cian is a Seldarine drow, a sorcerer with a conceited streak, hungry for knowledge and the power it holds, in his spare time a writer and poet.))
AO3
~
The self-control of this devil was disastrous for a creature so utterly convinced of – and dependent on – his abilities as a master manipulator.
Cian leaned closer to place a kiss on this angry, tight-lipped mouth. To his own surprise, Raphael kissed him back. It was not a patient kiss and did nothing to conceal his desire. Raphael kissed him as if to devour him, as if to regain some of the control he had taken from him, his lips moving in a sinful manner that sent burning pleasure through his veins.
“See, that’s the core of the problem I’m talking about.” Cian grinned and put some distance between them again.
“You will pay for your insolence, little mouse, you will pay for it direly.” He tested the strength of the ropes tying his wrists to the bedframe, but their enchantment would hold him in place. Cian was confident in the spell, and even if not, well, thanks to their newest contract, he had other means to enforce the cambion’s … cooperation.
With the faintest smile, he hummed in agreement and rubbed his thumb softly over one of Raphael’s hardened nipples. Gods above – what an empty saying, the gods had no hand in this –, he was breathtaking, and intensely aware of that fact. The magical mirror he had conjured above the bed made sure he was able to admire himself, just the way he liked it, and the desperate state he was in.
“You put your signature on the bottom line, my fiendish friend. For three days, you are mine – within the limitations we agreed on.”
He knew well that Raphael had underestimated his creativity. And oh, he would find ways to punish him for the liberties he took right now, there was no question about it, so he would make sure the game was worth whatever he planned to inflict on him.
“Picturesque.” He muttered. “Surely you didn’t lose your taste for fine art.” The devil’s magnificent horns rested on a soft pillow, thick enough to support the position, his enormous wings spread underneath his naked, crimson body which was bound to the luxurious bed by heavy iron around wrists and ankles like a glorious, sinister painting. Skillfully bound, heat-resistant ropes held his legs wide open, and all his most intimate parts accessible, and vulnerable. Cian smiled as he surveyed a detail he especially enjoyed: another well-shaped piece of metal – pure gold, not iron –, delicately ornate and yet cruel and unyielding, kept his cock from growing fully hard. The entwined bars left space to allow stimulation of the sensitive flesh and for the impressive length to fight against its restraints, but held it firmly enough to be noticeable at all times and quite uncomfortable in states of arousal. – States of arousal like the one he was in right now in this very moment. His hands – their pale white a stark contrast to the dark red – explored the masterpiece this devil was with open admiration, the sharp lines and ridged skin and tense muscles. His massive tail twitched, betraying his inner turmoil. “I want you to watch yourself break apart underneath my hands, Raphael, and watch closely: all the things this little mortal can do to you if he so desires.”
He felt the heat of his body rising under his touch in unrestrained rage. “You insolent little wretch, who do you think you are dealing with?”
Cian chuckled and lowered his lips to the pointed ear to speak with a low voice: “The devil I got to know a little too well.”
He brought his mouth to the sensitive skin of his neck and bit down not too gently, and smirked with satisfaction when Raphael gasped.
The shine of the near fire played on his chest, his abdomen and thighs, and he put enough distance between them to hold his gaze as he ran his hands over his body again, almost worshipping it with slow, smooth strokes, tantalizing, and enjoyed it a little too much when the devil’s hip twitched upwards while he gave intense attention to the sensitive inner sides of his thighs but none to his caged cock.
In his egomania and impatience, Raphael tended to lose his temper too readily, but for now there was little he could do to escape the sweet torture, serving to remind him how pleasure could hold on and last.
With a smile he reached for one of the toys, not the first one tonight, and covered it in warm oil before he pressed the tapered end to his hole.
“Stop boring me.”
Raphael seemed displeased about the new intrusion. Ignoring his protest, Cian pushed it firmly against the rim. His hole opened up around it and there was no way for him to stop him from slowly and steadily easing it into him.
The way he clenched tightly around its narrow end hinted that it rested inside of him in a way that didn’t feel so boring now.
When he touched it again, the magic it held sent soft vibrations through the toy grinding against the devil’s prostate.
Raphael’s lips – a tight line of anger before – now open in a soft gasp. Cian caught a glint of the diamond adorning his forked tongue. Hells, he would love to feel it scratch against his skin while the devil used his mouth to pleasure him … Well, maybe later.
The magic of the plug increased the vibrations and massaged Raphael’s prostate in ways that were hard to bear – as he knew from experience. He usually couldn’t take it for long before it made him give into a rough release.
Of course, Raphael had no such choice. The cage, more humbling adornment and agonizing reminder than flawless tool to actually prevent all sorts of unauthorized orgasms, worked so relentlessly well thanks to a little bonus in their contract. It was written in cold ink: his pretty devil wouldn’t find sexual relief for three days, at least not without his explicit permission, no matter the stimulation, no matter what he tried. Furthermore, he was compelled to obey his every command for the same duration. – Aside from those explicitly excluded in the document. Another interesting detail gave Raphael the power to end this little game at any given moment. But if he made use of this bonus stipulation before the three days were over, well, he didn’t have to pay either.
All the rest, the restraints, the toys, they only served to inflict a delicious sensation of utter helplessness he certainly wasn’t used to.
Raphael probably hadn’t expected him to take advantage of the chastity clause to the extent he did.
His cock twitched and Cian watched with undisguised amusement how he tried to move his bound hands in a pointless attempt to stroke himself, believing he was still the one in control of his cock.
“Touching it would not help you much, Raphael. I’m doing you a favor by keeping it out of reach for you. Imagine the humiliation of rubbing yourself, frantically, unable to stop, but to no avail at all.” He smirked and the devil’s mouth opened. But instead of spitting curses, he moaned pathetically when he raised the vibrations of the toy inside of him.
“On the other hand, you seem to enjoy the thought.”
Whatever words Raphael threw back at him were in Infernal and, unfortunately, he had neglected his lessons.
Pre-cum dribbled from his glans and he reached out to stroke it in slow, tender circles, spreading the wetness and making the cambion squirm in an attempt to escape the teasing touch. The reaction encouraged him to keep going.
“Does it tingle too much when I tease it? It’s weeping already.”
“You forget that you will be mine.” Raphael’s deep voice sounded breathless, heavy with arousal and embarrassment, and still he managed to give the words a threatening touch: “In a heartbeat from now.”
“A heartbeat? I would not call it that.” Cian continued his cruel ministrations. “One month of service for three days of control over you,” he repeated the core of their arrangement without the slightest hint of fear. Aside from the main stipulations, it also included countless clauses and constraints that forbade lasting harm and defined what was to be considered as such. – However, not a single paragraph against keeping the cambion bound to an overly comfortable bed and pleasuring him until he became a whimpering begging mess under his hands. “Worth it. I’m sure a devil like you has no idea how long three days can feel.”
“It’s barely a blink compared to the month ahead of y…ahh”
He thrusted upwards when he rubbed his cock more firmly through the cage and the stimulation, combined with the vibrations inside of him, brought him close to the sharp edge of an orgasm that wouldn’t come.
His tail lashed as he wiggled and tried to fuck himself on the plug without meeting the needed resistance. Raphael inhaled a sharp breath. His heavy balls clenched and the dark purple of his cock seemed more intense than usual between the unyielding golden bars. The build-up must have been more than he had ever experienced before, it looked deliciously uncomfortable, slightly painful, and he couldn’t resist. With another cruel smirk, Cian leaned in and licked the trapped, heated flesh. Raphael whined for him, and he took his caged cock into his mouth as wide as it fitted with the special jewelry around it, massaging the exposed parts with his tongue.
“Take it off!” The devil’s rage was palpable in the very air around them.
He ignored the harsh order and sucked more firmly, lapping at his glans with every upwards motion and taking in the bitter, salty note of his desperation, mixed with something strangely spicy and heavy, unique to the cambion. His cock felt hot against his tongue, even hotter than the rest of his body.
Cian’s hands stroked his muscular thighs while they strained against the restraints in Raphael’s fruitless attempts to close his legs and escape the agonizing edging.
But he was trapped. And he would experience every well-aimed stroke of his tongue, every teasing touch of his fingers and toys for as long as he decided.
The thrashing became stronger as if Raphael sought more stimulation despite the cruel tightness of his little cage. With a pleased little smile, Cian let his cock slip from his lips. It was wet from saliva and the now constant steam of clear precum.
“Remove this vile thing from me or I will make you regret it.”
“Manners, Raphael.” But he was willing to grant him a small mercy and free him from the cage. – For a little while. The lock reacted to the quadrangular ring he wore when he put it into the opening at the device’s side. Carefully, he removed the metal, and immediately Raphael’s erection grew to its full impressive length.
The devil let out a sigh of pleasure and relief and Cian captured his lips in another demanding kiss while he reached for the oil again, this time to coat his hands with it, wrap his right around his devil’s cock and rub it in slow, sensual motions. He could feel every delicious ridge against his palm, the more tender, silken skin near the tip, the tightly pulled back foreskin leaving the glans free and unprotected to his touch while he allowed his tongue to thrust into Raphael’s half-opened mouth, coaxing a moan from him and then another as he kissed him deeply in the rhythm of his strokes.
When he felt the cambion’s cock throb, hard, he removed his hand – and his lips as well.
Raphael looked positively miserable, his hair a mess of brown curls around his horns, his sharp-edged face glistening with sweat and tense in the agony he was unable to conceal, lines of discontent deep around his mouth and nose and a profound anger glowing in his bright eyes.
“Was that another edge?” Cian watched his length leak onto his abdomen and leave a sad little puddle. “It’s so swollen and constantly leaking, I can’t truly tell.”
“You impertinent little worm, don’t think for a second …”
“I allow you to cum,” he interrupted him. “You have my permission for exactly ten minutes. If you manage to get there.”
He put his hand back and started stroking him again, far more slowly now and so gently as to drive him insane.
Raphael moaned, then gritted his teeth to focus on the sensations.
Cian imagined the bright spike of an orgasm crawling from his tense stomach to his yearning cock, nearer and nearer, building steadily and so slowly it was sweet torture to reach it.
“Close …,” Raphael gasped, beginning to forget his pride. His hole clenched tightly around the toy while the wave of pleasure built with each of his tantalizing strokes.
Oh, Cian knew the feeling, those ripples of sharp sensation radiating throughout his body, that white hot tension pooling deep within. Raphael’s thighs were shaking now. Hells, he was incredible like this, entirely lost in sensation, robbed of all control.
And he had more for him.
Raphael’s body gave away that he was approaching orgasm any second now. He trembled, his full balls drawn close to his body, his hips met his strokes in little thrusts, and the sheer heat he radiated threatened to burn him. His attentive studies of his body’s reactions paid off. Those fierce sensations were right at their very peak when Cian brought the magical vibrations to a halt and pulled the toy out of him. At the same moment, he stopped his strokes and let go of the devil’s cock.
Raphael’s eyes widened. An anguished “No” slipped from his lips, then he groaned with helpless need. His body fought the restraints in earnest now, his cock twitched in cruel neglect. “Please!” It was the very first time he heard the proud cambion beg and the sudden little plea combined with the utter distress in his voice sent a hot jolt of arousal to his own groin.
Ah, if Raphael only knew. This little game cost him all the willpower he had. Cian was painfully hard since they had started. To witness him so defenseless, his beautiful body utterly vulnerable, all his, and the sweet torture he inflicted on him, aroused him direly and to a degree that made it hard not to give in and give the devil the relief he so urgently craved.
“Look at you, what a marvelous view you are …”
He wondered if he liked what he was forced to see in the mirror above him, the full extent of the shameful state he was in.
The cruel edge subsided and the devil was left stranded in sweltering need. Cian imagined his frustration, and how it was made worse by the fact of how good it would have felt, how explosive it could have been.
“Beg me for it, Raphael,” he said, the calmness of his tone a lie, but a convincing one. He would savor every confession, every helpless plea from his irresistible lips.
In the most casual of ways, he slipped two of his oily fingers in Raphael’s hole. He found his prostate with ease and massaged it with gentle, teasing circles.
Raphael looked at him, unable to hide the heavy, feverish desire and he felt him clench around him when the pressure built again. He got there terribly fast now and Cian had to slow down. “Ah, your sweet spot is quite sensitive after all the teasing, isn’t it? Does it feel nice to have it stroked? I might find myself of a mind to be more merciful if I hear you say it. What do you need? Tell me. Beg.”
“Please,” Raphael repeated, the hesitation making clear that the inner battle against his own pride still raged. His desperation, though, was gaining the upper hand: “Please grant me relief.” Cian stroked his prostate more firmly, encouraging his words, making him breathe harder and lose the tense stiffness he had been speaking with: “I need to come, keep touching me, hells, don’t stop … don’t … Nghhh.”
He pulled his hand free when he felt him getting closer to orgasm again. Precum oozed out of his cock with none of the pleasurable contractions or squirting he had begged for.
He chuckled. It was a dark, mocking sound. “Someone is quite the mess.” He met Raphael’s eyes in the mirror and his face showed the shame he had hoped for. “But you’ll have to learn to beg better than that to convince me. And I fear your ten minutes are over. You’ll just take what I give you now, without any relief at all – until I allow you another chance. If I allow you another chance.”
“You can’t be serious,” Raphael hissed.
Cian opened his pants. Unlike his devil, he was still fully dressed and didn’t truly plan to change the fact. Instead, he only freed his own eager cock from the restricting fabric, suppressed a relieved sound, and coated it in oil.
“Oh, you will find out that I can. And now be a good, obedient cambion and relax for me.”
Without further preparations, he brought himself into position and lined his length up with the slippery hole.
The ring of muscles easily gave way under the determined pressure. He was bigger than the plug had been but he wanted Raphael to feel the stretch. His little gasp and the tight grip of his ass around his cock showed him that he did.
It didn’t fail to overwhelm him when he pushed into the heat of his body and he let out a little sigh. Halfway in he held completely still for a moment to compose himself. The sensations radiated through his body and the intimacy of the act made his heart beat faster against his will. Throughout all of it, Raphael had not used his way out, had not rescinded their contract. Either he fiercely wanted to take revenge or he enjoyed it just as much as he did. – With a little luck both were true.
Nonetheless, Cian didn’t allow himself too much gentleness, not here and now. Raphael already tried to push himself upwards in raging arousal and to take his cock as deep as it would go. He placed his hands on his hips and held him in place while his tail moved back and forth with impatient turmoil.
Cian pulled out until only the tip of his cock remained inside the tempting heat, then pushed back in with vigor. They both moaned and he repeated the movement again and again – slowly building speed and a rhythm.
A gasp from the devil and the tight clenching of his insides told him when he found the right angle to rub his prostate with every well-aimed thrust.
Gradually, he increased his pace and fucked him with deep and hard vehemency, skillfully taking ownership of the devil’s body. He used his right hand to brace his position, his left found its way to his cock and enclosed it firmly, rubbing it without mercy as if to make him cum for him. Raphael’s muscles quivered with the sexual tension it created, nerve endings stimulated in all those hard-to-bear ways, no doubt: body and mind focused on the fullness inside of him, the utter control he had over him, the intense overstimulation of his most sensitive body parts and the imminent ecstasy of orgasmic release. Every time the cataclysmic sensations threatened to peak, the bounds of their contract stopped the relief he was seeking. He groaned under him, grunted, hips thrusting, tail swishing, cock jerking in his grip and helplessly dribbling over his hand.
He wasn’t able to stop himself, wasn’t able to hold still despite the agony – or because of it.
“You think I may change my mind?” Cian brought out, voice strained, “Fuck yourself on my cock. Show me how much you need it. Show me how you get off from my control over you, how you need me deep inside of you, how you yearn for me to possess you.”
Raphael was too far gone for an answer, delirious with lust, but met his movements with his own as hard as his restraints allowed, his moans pitching higher. Cian’s mind was filled with his voice, his heavy scent, the way he felt around his cock, and the magnificent view of his now so obedient body.
The silent, forced confession from his devil brought him close to his own release. Raphael’s burning eyes were no longer focused on his own predicament in the mirror, instead his infernal gaze locked with his, reaching for his soul in ways he should never allow with a creature as dangerous as this. But he was lost, he had been lost for a long time already, and willingly gave into it all, thrusting into him with relentless pleasure until his orgasm shot through him, erasing all his thoughts, and ripping his name from his throat.
“Raphael!”
The bliss that had overtaken him rushed through his every fiber and only subsided slowly. His thighs trembled with orgasmic aftershocks when he pulled out of him. His muscles felt heavy and he wanted to press against the heat of Raphael’s body for a while, kissing along his neck, breathing him, freeing him from his restraints and give him the relief he so urgently needed with his hands and mouth before finding himself enwrapped by his arms and wings. Ah, it was disgusting how soft he became after an orgasm.
Cian sorted out his clothes and closed his pants. Then he allowed himself to stroke a messy curl from Raphael’s damp forehead. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,” he muttered.
The room smelled of sex, their sweat and Raphael’s perfume that was so much more domineering than his own.
Gods, to imagine the frustration his devil had to be in, his balls aching, his hole sour, cock ignored in its helpless, throbbing need while he lay there sweaty, a pool of his own precum on his abdomen and his cum leaking out of his ass.
“You can’t mean to leave me here for three days.” Raphael sounded much tamer than he knew him.
“I won’t.”
After all, he had to obey his commands; it didn’t truly matter if he freed him.
“But for a while longer. I need a break. And a bath. Maybe I’ll allow you one too after my return. Try to become soft enough we can put on your cage again.”
To make the task harder for him, he pushed the toy back into his hole where it gently vibrated with his magic. “For your entertainment. Better hope Haarlep won’t find you while I’m gone. They might get ideas too.”
Raphael’s jaw clenched in anger and a hint of fear flashed in his eyes. While usually he preferred not to have the incubus around, the idea that they could come in and take advantage of this whole situation, brought a smirk to his lips. “You probably wouldn’t especially enjoy it to have them ride your cock while I’m not even around to maybe give you permission to cum,” he shared his thoughts with the distressed devil. His cock, though, twitched as if it were more interested in the idea than Raphael would ever admit.
Cian leaned in to place a chaste little kiss on his lips. Raphael didn’t try to escape his touch. “You know …,” he said, when he left the bed. “If you’d agree to continue this little game for ten years, I’d give you my soul.”
Raphael snorted. “You overestimate your value.”
Cian smirked. “Or maybe you are afraid that, after ten years of this, I would own yours.”
~
thank you so very much @dujour13 and @steampunkserpent for your amazing help and support!
(@edisonstolemyheart I saw you wanted to be tagged if this story would happen.)
#raphael bg3#bg3 raphael#raphael the cambion#raphael#bg3#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate#baldur's gate raphael#dmagedtexts#my writing#my ocs#oc: cian#a deal worth taking#faustian bargains
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Owlcatober Day 18 - Dancing Lights:
A Glow in the Dark
The chilly north wind mercilessly cut through the air and crawled under the soft, ornamented fabrics of his custom-tailored coat that was made to fit his body’s shapes in perfection but no match for cold autumn nights spent on a balcony of Drezen's citadel far from any warming fire. He felt strangely numb to the sensation. Visible puffs of air rose out of his mouth with each breath while his gaze wandered across the sleeping city. The silence in Drezen never became as full, as peaceful, and all-consuming as during those long nights at Heaven’s Edge that seemed to belong to another life.
He had hated the quiet tranquility when he had been a child. Now he missed its calming embrace or at least …, well, every once in a sappy while.
It was such a simple little spell. Effortless, a light emerged from his palm, warm and bright in the rough darkness surrounding him. His chest felt heavy while the magical lantern floated as light as a feather. He wished he could join its journey, just as weightless, just as free.
He trembled. His heartbeat hurt in his veins.
She had loved those lights. He remembered their reflection in her bright green eyes, his own wonder and excitement, his little hand warm in hers.
The wind still tore at his coat and he flinched at the sudden feeling of warmth, of tightness around him. A familiar warmth, he realized almost immediately, a familiar tightness too – not limiting but welcome and protecting.
Salvadore didn’t speak a word. He just stood there with him, held him close, and he refocused on his spell, the slightest bit calmer now. Another lantern gained its form in his hand, and he set it free, then another and a fourth.
The flickering lights rose higher and higher into the dark, endless sky, all the way up to the stars, and they watched in silence, back against chest, as the magical flames grew smaller and smaller, dancing around each other in the cold, relentless wind.
“Happy birthday, Mother,” he whispered quietly, and Salvadore pulled him even closer, steadying him far beyond any physical support.
The lights were still dancing and they watched until they couldn’t see them anymore. Even long after they had disappeared from view, they didn’t move. Instead, they remained in their tight embrace, looking up at the stars that blinked down on them.
#and happy birthday to me too#daeran#daeran arendae#pathfinder wotr#pathfinder: wrath of the righteous#commander x daeran#knight and dae#daeran x commander#pwotr#knight commander salvadore#oc: salvadore#my ocs#my writing#dmagedtexts#owlcatober 2023#pwotr pals#owlcatober#dancing lights
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34 and 38 for Sal
34. How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?
Incredibly hard.
No one could ever treat him more strictly and unforgiving than he treats himself. Salvadore is highly prideful and his pride comes from the high expectations he has in himself and he justifies his claim to power with his abilities and superiority. Should he fail in what he views as necessary in his position, it would take lots of hard work to fight himself out of the darkness he might end in as a result. (In extreme cases, it has the potential to destroy him.)
Even in cases where he follows his own code but has to bring a necessary sacrifice - as all rulers must - it can lead to intense guilt he can't shake off easily. He only ever holds himself to the highest standards and, behind his cold facade, actually cares to protect and improve the lives of those he's responsible for.
38. What memory do they revisit the most often?
When he's with the one he wants to share his life with: Memories of tenderness and joy, memories of love and lightness to help him through heavy days, or sometimes just to feel warm and blissful.
Aside from that? Memories with Eneas when he was his mentor and teacher during his childhood. He will never not think of him most fondly and still, there also is a certain bitterness in those thoughts after the way he left him.
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The Heart's Deceitful Lesson
Rating:
General
Relationships:
Raphael/Haarlep; Raphael/Male Durge (my character Cian)
Summary:
Raphael knew it had merely been a matter of time before the disdainful incubus would grasp a chance to betray their master. The attempt went wrong and now they will pay the price. But has there been more to the deed than visible at first view?
A prompt filled for @karneo 💕
(I'm always open for Raphael prompts btw, it just may take me a little time to answer them. 🥰)
Tags of importance:
Betrayal, Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Implied Torture, Injury, Blood, Fiends With Feelings
AO3
~
Betrayal always followed those on the path to glory, increasing exponentially with growing power. It came with inevitable precision to those aiming high and by no means disguised well enough to elicit his surprise, even less from the despicable, renitent creature who had resided in his bed for far too long.
Centuries, centuries of grudging companionship, spiked with their flaming hatred, with his own aversion for the distasteful gift, spiked with the bitter taste of their mockery, with his well-aimed punishments, spiked with unmatched understanding, glimpses into his soul he had granted against his better judgment, a connection that ran deep, even misplaced tenderness, an aimless longing, moments of heavy exhaustion caught and held in their embrace, all of it thrown away in the blink of an eye.
It was not the treachery that bore the true offense – he should never have ceased expecting it –, it was the execution of the attempt that bordered on an insult, an insult of his intellect and abilities and even of their hell-forged bond itself.
Hot blood drenched the fabric of his doublet. He had not bothered to heal the wound gaping near his shoulder, too many inches from his heart. What a poetic target, how deeply ironic the miss. And still, the defiant organ was throbbing and aching for the fragment of an illusion he had indulged in so inattentively, captured in their steady, familiar dance.
‘No venomous cobra's stab e'er stung,
Like nectared lies on a false friend's tongue.’
The bloody dagger before him tainted the dark wood of his desk and the deep, lush red mixed with the expensive poison it carried. Unfortunately for the traitor, his favorite client had filled his repertoire with a collection of no less efficacious antidotes only weeks ago.
The harlot had not left the house, he sensed them strong as ever; they did not attempt to run like the cowardly lizard they were and to escape and flee his vengeance, probably knowing with ultimate certainty that he would find them no matter which deep, dark hole they’d crawl into.
The moment of their attack lingered in him as if the dagger had never left his body, relentless and sharp, cutting much more effectively now in the afterglow than in the second of the amateurish attempt on his life: The swift shadow – invisible before –, it had drawn his attention away from his paperwork, the shining blade – darting towards his chest –, it had pierced his flesh with pathetic inaccuracy, his grip – fast enough to close around the fabric of their cape –, it had revealed his own fear-stricken face staring back at him.
They had swiftly retreated into the shadows and out of the room.
How long did he sit here already, unable to move, unable to fully process?
The cape lay useless on the floor, still smelling like their perfume. The cinnamon note, a calming scent to him before, now threatened to make his stomach turn.
Enough. His fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger. He needed to act. The anger he experienced felt oddly cold, like burning ice in his veins when he finally made his way to the boudoir.
He would not have been able to tell what he had expected. Haarlep with a weapon in their hand, ready to throw themselves into a desperate, hopeless battle? Haarlep on their knees, begging for his forgiveness with sickening sweetness, seduction on their tongue? Haarlep offering a worthless deal, trying to make him forget that all they got was already his and his alone?
What he saw, however, seemed almost surreal to him. The traitor lay there on his bed, relaxed, unimpressed, with a taunting grin on their face. Even after all this time glamoured to mirror his features, it never had lost the last luring, irksome (cherished? – he banned the thought as fast as it came) impact of their own underlying traits.
“You seem tense tonight, master.” Haarlep raised, smooth like a snake in disguise. “– Struggling with a disobedient pet?” Their eyes lingered on his wound with unconcealed hunger.
What game are they playing?
Haarlep left the soft mattress and moved towards him, each movement graceful and strong, not carrying a hint of fear. “Your body yearns for peace, to give in to the pleasure of letting go.”
And suddenly he understood, eyes widening: They were distracting him for a second attempt.
Wearing the smile still on their lips, they reached out for him – “Allow me to …” – and he raised his hand with firm determination, thrusting the dagger forwards, aiming for the target they had missed. The sharp blade sunk into their chest with gruesome ease.
“Enough of your insulting antics. You must have known the price.”
Their face showed … confusion?
“Raphael …” His name left their trembling lips as a rough rattle. “Why …”
Fire flooded his senses. They had the audacity?
He wanted to grab their throat, wanted to cut off their last treacherous breaths. In a reflex, he caught their body before it fell to the ground.
There was an ocean of pain in their eyes, so much of it not caused by the iron. Their claws sunk into his clothes and skin as if to hold onto him.
Not even now they show me a flicker of respect and stop their ridiculous farce.
His heart throbbed in the agonizing rhythm of their blood leaving their chest and tickling over his hand.
“Go now, sweet companion,
Fallen from grace.”
He spoke the words with somber calmness – betrayed only by the slightest tremor. His hand caressed one of their horns, their silken hair.
“Nothing keeps its rhyme or reason
When darkness claims your loved face.”
Their shaking hand reached out for his cheek, cupping it with unbearable tenderness that sharply contrasted everything that had happened within the last hour.
Haarlep grinned a strained grin, bearing sharp canines. It never had looked like his own.
He flinched when he felt a touch on his tail. Haarlep’s had entangled with his, squeezing in a last goodbye.
“Take care, little brat.”
Their features grew stiff. The grip around his tail loosened.
A watery drop met their lifeless lips and he needed a moment to realize it had been one of the tears falling from his eyes.
Captured in its grip, he could not bring himself to shake off the unacceptable weakness.
He was numb when he carried Haarlep back to the bed and placed them there as if they were sleeping.
A feeling in him grew louder and louder, like a constant rustling, now tearing on all his senses: Something was wrong. Entirely.
What had been a vague impression before became a sinister certainty.
He sensed … a presence, like a gaze on him, hidden from view, expecting to stay unnoticed there in the shadows.
Ice seemed to flood his innards when he cast a spell.
It can’t be true, it mustn’t.
But his hope, once more, got shattered.
His magic revealed the intruder: Red skin, majestic horns, sharp features – as if they had been ripped out of his aching chest. The younger, slightly adjusted version of his face was looking at him once more; as if Haarlep had never died, as if they weren’t lying cold and lost right next to him on the bed. Even their smell oozed from the vile creature.
Shock appeared on those stolen features, but before the intruder managed to escape a second time, he cut off their way to the door, gripped them by their shirt, and lifted them from the ground.
“Show yourself!” he demanded; voice sharp with bewildered rage.
They didn’t react, only made a muffled sound.
With unrestrained force, he threw them against the wall behind them. Stonework crumbled and they gasped in pain when they sunk to the ground. The magical disguise fell from their body and revealed ashen skin, long black hair, and two mismatching eyes looking up at him with heavy fear.
“No.” The word left his lips like a breathless gasp.
His little mouse, his favorite client, his occasional lover who had steadily made his way into his dealings, into his life.
The realization felt like someone had plunged him into frozen water.
“I had no choice! Let me explain!” Cian pleaded.
“You betrayed me.” The bewilderment even muffled his rage. “After everything. You betrayed me!”
“No! That’s not true! The attack …, I, I aimed at your shoulder, made sure you would have the antidote at hand! It was an act, but an act based on an important truth. You needed to finally believe it! The spying incubus was the one who would have betrayed you, rather sooner than later but in a far more dangerous way than the one I have staged! You didn’t want to listen! But I have proof! If only you let me …”
“You made me kill them.”
The full extent of the deceit, of what the mortal had done, it seemed to resist reaching his mind.
“I showed you something you would have seen anyway! Eventually! And then maybe you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to react!”
With three forceful steps, he reached the kneeling drow, gripped his hair, and ripped his head backward. He could snap his neck or cut his throat in an instant. But no. No. He would not experience the relief of death. Oh, beg for it, yearn for it, but he would keep it just out of reach for him.
“Not so much a mouse than a rat.”
Cian looked up to him, not struggling against his fate. Not yet. But he saw tears shining in his eyes. The first of many to follow.
“Raphael ..., I did it for you.”
Everything in him grew hard.
“No venomous cobra's stab e'er stung,
Like nectared lies on a false friend's tongue,” he said quietly.
With a flick of his fingers, he brought him to a room that would serve as his prison until he’d have worked out some more specific, significant details for him.
“Please, let me show you what caused my decision!”
“Better by far the deadliest foe
Who does not fail to let you know”
An expression of resignation overshadowed Cian’s face when he roughly let go of him and turned around without another word. The peculiarities of his new chamber would suppress the sorcerer’s magic.
“He is your foe, nor does it smart,” Cian answered, a deep sadness in his voice,
“As badly, when he rends your heart.”
Raphael didn’t turn around to him again, the chaos in him too strong to withstand it any longer in the presence of the traitor. Instead, he clicked his fingers once more, leaving the room behind.
#raphael bg3#bg3 raphael#raphael#bg3#haarlep#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate#baldur's gate raphael#dmagedtexts#my writing#faustian bargains#bg3 spoilers#The Heart's Deceitful Lesson#my ocs#oc: cian
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10, 20, 38, and B for Siavesh; 11, 17, 22 and 27 for Eneas! (Sorry I'm greedy)
I was so free and assumed something got mixed up and you meant Salvadore. 😁 I wouldn’t dare to answer for Sia, but I’m very willing to poke Dujour and pass the questions along as well. 😂💗
Salvadore:
10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?
Salvadore lies for political and diplomatic reasons when his plans require it. But he never obscures too much what he believes in and stands for and wants to achieve, just steps along the way and his methods. He acts highly strategically and knows how to play people. But those maneuvers belong to situational plans, there isn’t a returning lie he frequently tells.
Maybe only one thing in the Pathfinder universe: He fully worked with people’s belief that he was Iomedae’s chosen one when he already sensed/knew the lie in it. After all, he never had any connection to the goddess and not even a lot of sympathy for her as the critical atheist he is. Still, for the time being, it smoothed his rise to power to present himself as her champion. He promoted the picture to gain support, strengthen alliances, intimidate foes, and make himself known.
After the reveal, he didn't continue pretending to be Iomedae’s special soldier, the lie had outlived its purpose at this point.
It doesn’t haunt him at all, it was just a political tool, one he had to get rid of again. Despite his angel powers, Salvadore would dislike it if his legacy was too strongly interwoven with Iomedae. While he doesn't speak against her, he makes very sure in the aftermath that the people recording his story publish he is not and never has been her chosen one and that he follows his own self-decided path.
20. If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?
He actually had to think about this topic a lot, in my original universe too, but he came to a clear conclusion.
Salvadore rarely allows friendship in his life but when he does, the people he considers close in that way are very important to him and experience a much less aloof side of him, warmth instead of the cold he seems to radiate on a professional level, passion, and a certain teasing, playful charm.
Still, he is one of those people who make a difference in the sheer … intensity of the bond in a romantic relationship compared to a platonic relationship. While the platonic part is necessary with a romantic partner for him too, he will always put this one special person he picks to spend eternity at his side on a special pedestal. It doesn’t take from the importance and value of his friendships, but what he shares with his partner has to involve a form of connection and depth that’s at least slightly above anything else in his life - tighter, stronger, wider.
Of course, things like this aren’t just there spontaneously, it has a lot to do with growing and growing together and developments and is a way rather than a sudden event. Therefore, it would be more correct to say that for him a romantic relationship needs the vivid and clear potential to rise above all else, to become something uniquely big, and to last forever.
38. What memory do they revisit the most often?
I answered this one here. 🥰
B) What inspired you to create them?
I never felt I did.
He just came to me and allows me to write him. And the reason he did, well, might be Rowley. Rowley needed someone who would make for a worthy opponent. Why someone like Sal? Well, they contrast each other in many points and work greatly together (as in: against each other) for this very reason.
I’m sure, though, my wish for a character that would be controlled, structured, ambitious, classy, confident, condescending, determined, and a true leader had its part in it too.
~
Eneas:
11. How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?
It depends on the role he plays and what’s at stake. Asking the right or wrong questions can reveal a lot about a person’s thoughts, knowledge, education, background, etc. So, if a question gives away too much, he holds it back, and researches later, using materials he gathers or by influencing someone else to get him the information he needs. In some cases, and with people with a weak resistance to it and little attention, he uses his magic to push into their minds to extract the answers right at the source.
In a more casual situation, though, when his confusion matters little, he just politely asks for clarification.
17. Are they easily embarrassed?
It’s hard to embarrass Eneas. He went through too much that required him to get rid of all pride in certain moments. It taught him that pride usually serves little purpose. He doesn’t have the slightest problem to bow or kneel or to say whatever gets him what he wants or needs.
When he’s attacked in a way he can’t immediately escape, he switches into a calm but submissive role, not challenging the strength of the opponent until the very moment he sees the opportunity to disarm or kill them with one single counter strike (figuratively or literally).
Insults so superficial they are meant to embarrass him? Childish, they won’t cause much at all.
The only embarrassment happening to him here and there is secondhand embarrassment when people act in ways he considers overly blunt, annoying, disgusting, or just unpleasant. It’s for this reason he dislikes Rowley. 😂
22. How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?
This answer is here. 💕
27. What causes them to feel dread?
Eneas is a coward and doesn’t find enjoyment in physical fighting at all. Even from the back row with his magic, those scenarios scare him. He much prefers to win his battles in a verbal way and/or to leave those confrontations to others entirely and only pull strings from somewhere removed.
But what truly causes him dread, is the loss of power. Not to smaller degrees when one of his schemes backfires slightly or takes a surprising turn (he almost always has backup planes or – if none of them fits – some talent for improvisations) but to actually find himself without all his usual options he gathered and improved like an arsenal of protection: his magic, his tools, his words and roles and stories and lies, bare of his masks. He made very, very sure that he’ll never feel as helpless and at other people’s mercy as he did during his childhood and teenage years.
His deep fear of love comes from the very same corner. He experienced and later caused too much betrayal, was used in too many ways, manipulated people wherever he went and while power and safety and wealth and revenge are strong motives to work with, it’s always love (in all its facets) that drives people the farthest and leaves them the most defenseless. He himself exploits it mercilessly to lengthen his life. How could he not view it as the most dangerous thing in the world?
#aaaa those were amazing questions#thank you so very much cassy! 💗#omg this got long#oc: salvadore#oc: eneas#ask games#my ocs#dmagedtexts
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